


For Shame

by KissTheBoy7



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Dildos, Humor, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissTheBoy7/pseuds/KissTheBoy7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is experiencing difficulties concentrating on his studies, and his roommates nudge him towards their favorite sex shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Shame

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt on the les mis kink meme: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/13024.html?thread=5731552#t5731552

It takes Enjolras exactly a week to cave, Joly's suggestion ringing in the unbearable silence of his dorm room.

“They have toys for that,” the hypochondriac had mentioned offhand when Enjolras had snapped his pencil in half at their last group study session. Combeferre had long since stopped giving him pitying looks and now was just amused, trying to pretend he wasn't smiling behind his hand as he pored over a law textbook as big as his head. Face flaming, the blonde had looked up with a scowl.

“For _what?”_ he demanded, and Courfeyrac had guffawed before he could shove his fist into his mouth. The glare he'd received in return could have melted his skin, had he been at all intimidated.

“For, you know.” Joly twirled a finger at him absently, looking up with a small, knowing smile. “Sexual frustration. I know you don't like to date-”

“I _don't date_ -”

“Yes, exactly- look, Enj, it's nothing to be ashamed of. That way you can have the best of both worlds-”

“I beg to differ,” Courfeyrac sniffs, looking up at him with an almost-pout. “If you'd just join us one of these nights-”

Combeferre clamps an inkstained hand over his mouth then and, faintly flushed, gives Enjolras a pointed look. Joly looks away with a nervous giggle. “Your libido is affecting all of us. It would be appreciated if you took care of it,” he says as diplomatically as possible. Enjolras stares at the lot of them in disbelief.

“I have more important things to do than get myself off. Finalsare coming up. And-”

Courfeyrac licks obscenely at Combeferre's hand and grins when he yanks it away with a disgusted noise. “Ferre, we all know you don't have a problem with my saliva.”

“I'm _leaving,”_ Enjolras interjects, closing his book with a thump, and all three of them shoot hands out to grab his wrists and keep him there. He tugs at them fruitlessly, sure that all of the blood in his body has rushed to his cheeks.

“Just look into it! It's no big deal,” Joly smiles encouragingly, wincing when Courfeyrac butts in.

“Or else you can just borrow _mine-”_

“Do you know how unsanitary that is?!”

Somehow he'd managed to pry all of their grasping hands off of him and lock himself in the bathroom to continue studying alone. But after an hour or so, the sounds from the living room had grown distinctly more than friendly, and he'd found himself pulling at his own hair in frustration as Courfeyrac's wanton groans echoed through the flat.

Clearly _something_ had to be done, or he was never going to pass his political theory final.

And so here he is, standing outside of a shop indiscreetly flashing the title “The Pleasure Chest” in neon letters in broad daylight where anyone could see him. God. He's going to _kill_ Courfeyrac, and Joly and Combeferre for that matter for verifying his suggestion. He looks around, a little paranoid (this could destroy his reputation), and after another moment's hesitation yanks the door open to duck inside.

It's brightly lit and cheerful, nothing like what he would have imagined a sex shop to be. The color scheme, he notes approvingly, veers towards red and black. There's no one at the register, but he sees an assortment of pocket-sized bottles of what looks like fruit-flavored lubricant and glow-in-the-dark condoms surrounding it.

Jesus Christ. He shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets, cheeks stained crimson as he makes his way blindly down the first aisle. _You're alone, and you're embarrassed._

He wishes Joly was here, at the very least, to tell him what might be best for him-

And when he finds himself face to face with something resembling a riding crop he's abruptly glad that he's not.

It's still a bit baffling to him, this whole 'having a sex drive' thing. Enjolras has never paid his body much attention – Combeferre still had to remind him to eat at all, let alone three times a day – and that he was even considering indulging himself in this sort of thing during _finals_ season seemed like a bad joke. And- and actually _going to a sex shop-_

Cosette was going to have a field day with this when she inevitably heard about it.

Sometimes Enjolras _really_ wants to strangle Courfeyrac.

When he finally finds the aisle he's looking for, (and has taken a moment to be appropriately relieved that he has yet to run into another human being) Enjolras finds himself at a loss. For several feet on either side of him and behind him there are rows upon rows of dildos, of all shapes and colors and sizes, and the fact that there's such a large selection makes him vaguely worried about the direction the human race is headed.

 _Do people really spend this much time and money on sex?_ He wonders, tentatively prodding a veiny specimen with his finger. Behind him he hears a choked noise, and he whirls to find himself face to gleeful face with none other than-

_Grantaire._

_Oh, no._

The art student looks like he's just been granted his fondest wish – for all Enjolras knows he has, and the thought makes him shift uncomfortably – and he bites on his lip, repressing a giggle. “Apollo,” he manages, giving a little bow. The box in his hands jingles and Enjolras is suddenly wary of what in the hell he's buying- and then, more horrifically, as his torso dips a name badge on a lanyard swings into view-

Oh, God, no. No. This cannot possibly get any worse.

“I was just leaving,” he says in a valiant attempt to maintain his dignity. Grantaire is the _last_ person he needs to know anything about his (nonexistent) sex life. Grantaire is, arguably, the bane of his existence. Not to say that he _hates_ the cynic – though some days it's a close thing – but he really, really gets on his nerves.

It's bad enough that he's started showing up to Pride meetings, presumably just to argue loudly with him from across the room and drink wine blatantly out of a flask that Enjolras is reasonably certain Courfeyrac gave him for his birthday last year. He doesn't need to deal with him _now,_ when he could be studying – could be getting off, _something._

Studying is a great idea, he tells himself almost in a panic, but before he can shove his hands in his pockets and stalk away in shame Grantaire is setting the box down and slinging an arm around his shoulders, a wide grin on his face.

“Oh, come on now, Enjolras. There's no shame in a little self-exploration,” he says, leaning perhaps a bit too close. Enjolras wants vaguely to break his wrist and shove him away but he decides that may be a little violent, even for him. Grantaire's breath smells of something other than alcohol, for once, and distinctly more pleasant and Enjolras has been _so_ horny lately- “How can I help you, dear Apollo? Please. Enlighten me.”

He holds up his name badge teasingly, quirking an eyebrow. The blonde tenses, sensing the challenge in his eyes.

_Okay, fine. Bring it on._

“Stop calling me that,” he grumbles, but he stands up a little straighter, fixing him with a determined look. It's a credit to years of public speaking courses that he speaks evenly, without breaking eye contact. “Joly recommended this place, when I expressed an interest in- in anal stimulation.”

The fluorescent light dances in Grantaire's dark eyes and his grin, if possible, widens. He makes a wide, sweeping gesture with his free arm at the shelves before them. “Well you've come to the right place. What's the problem? Don't know your size?”

Enjolras nearly chokes on his tongue trying to reply to that, feeling heat building in his chest, warring with itself – to go north or south, that is the question. He didn't particularly like either option. _I could be studying..._ “No, I can't say I do...”

“I'm sure I can help you with that.” That's _definitely_ innuendo, but Enjolras can't find it in him to be repulsed. Grantaire has always earned his grudging curiosity – he was wild, yet probably the most intelligent man he knew, next to Combeferre. He shifts awkwardly, aware of the way his skinny jeans do nothing to hide his growing problem.

“I'm sure I could manage on my own, if you'd tell me how to do it,” he manages, though his voice wavers just the slightest. His eyes flicker over the wide selection again and

_why am I doing this again_

and if his cock wasn't already filling at the thought of Grantaire “helping” him fit one of the silicone contraptions up inside him he would have bolted right there.

Grantaire is endlessly amused by his predicament, tugging him on a stroll down the aisle so casually you'd have thought they were lovers in the park, observing the birds. If birds were plastic penises and Enjolras had a vagina. “It's not that difficult,” he tells him, his arm still draped loosely over his shoulders, and Enjolras has yet to shove him off. “All you have to do-” He raises his hand and bends his thumb and his pinky finger in. “-is shove 'em up there, and see how many you can fit.”

He nods, feeling his eyes widen at the jabbing motion Grantaire does before _curling_ his fingers in the most obscene way. It's not that he hasn't tried fingers before, it's just that he's normally so anxious about it that he ends up washing his hands and hastily throwing himself back into whatever essay he needed to revise, or e-mail he was planning to write. His sex drive has never taken any priority before. Now, he's beginning to wonder how wise it was to indulge himself.

The other man has clearly noticed the effect he's having on him by now, smugly spreading his fingers apart before dropping his hand altogether and grabbing a product off the rack. The one he's chosen is bright purple, with a flared base, and he waves it under Enjolras' nose teasingly. “You're going to want one you can fit, and that you're sure you're not going to suck up that tight ass of yours, never to be seen again.”

Enjolras opens his mouth to make a scathing reply but Grantaire is moving on already, his mouth run away with him, as usual. “And I mean, go wild. There are vibrating ones, and ribbed ones, and you can pick your favorite color, and experiment- I mean, Jesus, Apollo, just have some fun for once. No one is going to sue you for it.”

By the time he's finished and has turned back to him to observe Enjolras' reaction, Enjolras has stopped listening altogether and has instead begun an internal mantra of _I will not have sex with Grantaire in the dildo aisle_ that is fast becoming ineffective.

“Are you still there?” Grantaire deadpans, waving a hand in front of his face. Blue eyes snap to his hand, and those _fingers,_ and God dammit but Combeferre was right. He might as well get it over with.

He grabs his hand and pulls it closer, with half a mind to suck those paintbrush-calloused fingers into his mouth. Instead, he looks him in the eye and says, “Show me.”

The way Grantaire's eyes nearly pop out of his skull is almost worth it.

“I-” For once, the cynic is lost for words. His gaze wanders almost reverently down the other man's body, as if he can't quite believe his luck. “I- would be honored, Apollo. I get off at five.”

They got off at five thirty, together.

Andwhen Enjolras pants out his orgasm, sweaty and gasping _Jesus fucking Christ, Grantaire_ and nails biting into Grantaire's shoulder as he comes with three fingers curved inside him, _then_ it really is worth it.

He's going to kiss Courfeyrac, the next time he sees him.


End file.
